Why is March Madness?

If you are in a pool for the NCAA Mens Basketball Tournament, especially if you still have a chance at winning it, you know why it's maddening. You feel like a winner, a loser, a genius, an idiot, and a traitor all at once.

For those of you not familiar with the tournament, every year, 65 basketball teams are chosen to play a single elimination tournament to determine the champion. It's simple: a team loses, it's out; it wins, it moves on. Many people enter a pool with friends, which requires that participants guess the result of every game before the tournament even starts. Points are awarded for wins each round, with each round being worth more than the previous one. If the team you picked to win the entire tournament loses the first round, it's out of the tourney and you're probably out of contention in your pool. That can be maddening, but why is March madness?

Winner 

It's madness because expertise doesn't matter. In fact, it's often a hindrance. People might think they know something, but so many games come down to the last second, it's often a crap shoot. And one crucial loss can ruin your bracket. Everybody, and I mean everybody, has a chance. Odds are good that the 16 seed won't beat the 1 seed, but nobody knows what will happen. Don't listen to pundits or go by records either. Crazy things happen during the tournament.

Loser 

It's madness because you can go from first to worst after a single round. Sure, you rocked the first round, but if all your Sweet 16 don't make it out of the second, you're in big loser-y trouble. The team you chose to win it all gets upset in the second round? Even if you picked every other game correctly, don't hold your breath. Odds are that everybody will catch you--and then pass you. Of course, you can also go from worst to first after a round.

Genius 

It's madness because Cinderella can happen any year. Cal State Northridge, University of Texas at Chattanooga, East Tennesee State, Morehead State, North Dakota State, Cleveland State. Don't count them all out before the tourney starts. Any low seed or any team with two adjectives in its name can potentially make it all the way. And if they make it past the first weekend, everybody, despite their bracket, is cheering for them. Bask in the glory if you picked them--even if it was because you had 5 minutes to fill out the entire bracket and accidentally picked them because you thought it was a 3, not a 13, by their name.

Idiot 

It's madness because of the sheer number of games. During the first weekend, Thursday to Sunday, 48 games are played, whittling the field to 16 over the course of four days. The next weekend, 12 games are played to leave the four most worthy teams. It's insane trying to keep track of who plays who, who wins, and what the heck you had in your bracket. Try to watch them all? You could probably learn a foreign language in the time spent watching. Plus, the stress may kill you.

In addition, any game you picked to be an upset that wasn't makes you feel dumb. Of course UNC was going win its region. Stupid me!

Traitor 

It's madness because the team you want to win one round, you desparately want to lose even more the next round. Sure, I'll root for Duke to make it to the Sweet 16, but then I'd really like them to lose so that I get points and a lot of other people get hosed. Michigan State to the Sweet 16? Perfect, but don't ruin my chances by beating any more teams. Cleveland State's upset of 4 seed Wake Forest may cost me some points, but I'm rooting for them after that, even though I need every point I can get. Everybody's a Benedict Arnold.

March is madness because it's hard to believe you could be so many things at once.

Why is Kauai memorable?

I just returned from Kauai, Hawaii. The locale was everything I expected: clear water, lush vistas, great snorkeling. But it was more. It was wild (feral, not crazy) chickens, some roads that were more hole than road, and one-lane bridges. While the expected Eden is what drew me there, it was the unexpected, less perfect oddities that gave it its charm. 

Birds of paradise

The first wildlife I saw in Kauai? Tropical fish? No. Insects the size of my face? No. Brightly colored birds? Eh, sort of. As I left the airpot, I saw some chickens out in the open, running wild. Over the course of the trip, I found them in parking lots, at secluded beaches, and way up in the mountains. To their credit, they were more colorful than the monochromatic chickens of childrens books. They sat under cars, chased each other, and cruised about with their clutches of chicks. Elderly people fed them crumbs, adults videotaped them, and one kid yelled, "Die, chicken, die!". Think large, land-bound pigeons taking the place of stray cats. 

But instead of hearing yowls of alley cats, I heard roosters cock-a-doodle-doodling much of the day, which was quite different from the chirping of tropical birds that I expected. From what I've read about roosters (which consists almost completely of books aimed at 6 years olds), I thought they were only supposed to crow in the morning. I guess these roosters can't even read at a 6 year old's level so they crowed all the time. Fortunately, I only got annoyed once when one decided to roost just outside of my window one morning. I was ready preheat the oven. 

Supposedly, they are wild because Hurricane Iniki hit the island in 1992 and liberated the chickens. Here in California, it takes a Proposition to give chickens a little more freedom, but Hawaii has a different, more effective way. Without any natural predators, they ran amok. Come to think of it, the largest animal I saw was a chicken--except for the humans. And I did have fried chicken one night at a less-than-fancy place...but I'm sure they imported that. 

Holey Mary, Mother of God

Most of the roads were great, but the one that led up to and past Waimea canyon had more holes than a sieve--or even a net. Imagine every pothole you've ever driven through, add that to every pothole you've successfully avoided, multiply by 5, and put all those on the road directly in front of you. If that's not worrisome enough, add some fog, a slope, and a narrow road. That's what the road was like in some patches. Now, be very glad you're driving a rental car because if you were driving my 1989 Integra...you'd end up walking. But now, say a prayer because you just remembered that you didn't get the insurance, and based on the number of holes, one will probably eat a tire, a wheel, a bumper, or a passenger. It wasn't the scariest ride I've done (like I said, I drive an '89 Integra), but it was the worst road I think I've seen and/or felt rack my body.

The drive was well worth it. Not only did we get to view the amazing canyonscape, but we took an 8 mile hike (round trip) to Kilohana lookout. The hike started on a ridge. It was like standing on the rim of a cappuccino. One side was a valley filled to the brim with dense fog whereas the other side had a clearly-visible, verdant valley. The trail was mostly boardwalk, but the parts that were not were filled with many mud pits and steep, wet rock. In some respects, it was like to drive up: smooth most of the way but trying to kill its travelers at other times. 

The boardwalk was necessary because the trail took us through the highest swamp on earth. I know, that phrase reads like "oooh! highest!" and then "uhhh, swamp?". I'm no swamp expert, but I was not overwhelmed by its swampiness, which I'm going to say is a good thing. The hike ended at a cliff face overlooking the north shore of the island and a cavernous, lush valley that leads to it. It was a vista as grand as I've ever seen, perhaps grander because I had put in some work to get there. My words could never adequately describe it, but it made the hike and the drive well worth it. Plus, we could see where we had driven the day before, making it me feel that we had really made it around the island.

One-lane bridges

Towards the end of the road I just mentioned, which takes you up the east side of the island, there are a number of one-lane bridges. When I first saw the sign "One Lane Bridge Ahead", I was a bit nervous. After all, what if the one-way is going against me? How would I ever get across it? Yeah, sometimes I think stupid thoughts. I'm guessing they were cheaper than the two-lane bridges and traffic was low enough that it didn't matter. 

They basically work like a two way stop in that you yield the right of way to anybody who got there before you. The bridges are all pretty short so you can see the other side. If nobody's on the bridge, you can drive across without stopping. But unlike a two way stop, local courtesy says that five to seven cars are allowed to cross one way if they are all waiting there. So, if there is a line coming at you, somebody after the fifth or sixth car should yield and give you and four or six cars behind you a chance to cross. It was pretty easy and effective. However, I'm not going to recommend it for the Dumbarton or Golden Gate Bridges.

Chickens, potholes, and one-lane bridges: these unexpected imperfections made Kauai feel like a good friend, and I'd go back to visit in a second. 

Why don't I play dodgeball any more?

Recently, I attended a friend's birthday party at a trampoline warehouse. Imagine 60 trampolines next to each other with the hard parts covered by gymnastic mats. Tilted tramps prevent people from falling onto the concrete, so you have a stadium-type situation. There were three arenas: one where you can just jump around, one with a foam pit, and one with dodgeball. 

Sound pretty fun? It's not bad, but after 10 minutes, you realize you're tired, and that's because you're old. Try a flip? There are simpler things that you probably tried, like jumping off the side tramps, that made you realize that a flip will probably result in an ugly accident in front of a bunch of teens. Your brain feels like it's been shaken loose, your back feels like it was given a deep tissue massage by an amateur masseuse, and your stomach feels like you had some slightly undercooked seafood. What to do? Try the other arenas.

First, the foam pit. The idea is to jump off a trampoline and land in a pool of softness. Take some old foam blocks from the 60's--possibly the 1860's--and dump them in a pit. Throw a bunch of sweaty kids in there night after night. Congratulations, now you know what I decided would be fun to land in: lots of gray foam blocks. People ahead of me had trouble getting out of the pit when they landed on their backs, so I decided to try not to embarass myself. I approached, messed up my jump, and had to restart. My next try was successful. I made it into the pit face first. I'm pretty sure I ate some of the foam. I later asked my friend, an MD, what was the worst thing I could get from eating some. She said there was no need to worry unless some kid pooped in there. That was comforting. What are the odds that a kid as young as 5 soiled himself as he fell out of the sky?

Not wanting to die from eating a stranger's . . . ick, I decided to try dodgeball. I used to be really good when I was in junior high. Here's the situation. You enter an arena, where you are divided into teams by the "ref" (aka 15 year old who thinks he's a badass). You are then let loose to throw balls at the other team. I waited around a bit just to make sure I didn't get out right away. After all, there were about twenty people on each team. I didn't want to get out before the 10 year olds--or get out by a 10 year old. I had my pride to think about. I threw one ball, and hit nobody. 

Then, there were about 7 people left on each team. I scanned the other side to see where people were and where the balls were. This was my chance to shine and get somebody out. I was nervous, but I thought I had an advantage on all these chumps because, when I was 12, I was really, really--a ball out of the corner of my eye. The figure of a sizable black kid following through on his throw. Years of latent reflexes kicking in. I duck! Glory!

Wham! It turns out that I ducked quickly enough to get my face to ball-level. And it turns out that the kid was a pretty accurate and powerful thrower. Fortunately, it was a soft dodgeball so I could still see out of my eye. As I left the court, I was a little angry but more embarassed and tried to give him props for his hit. I heard one kid say, "Damn, that guy just got NAILED." I like to think somebody else got smacked right after me. I decided it was time to return to ruining my back and leave dodgeball to the youngins.

Why am I such a jerk?

As I was driving and doing my usual cursing at the driver who didn't adhere to the rules of the four way stop, I had to stop and wonder "Am I the jerk?" Does calling somebody else a jerk or an a--hole or a d--khead make me one? Or am I just making an objective observation? 

It all depends on your definition of a "jerk". If you say it's somebody who is inconsiderate and has a negative impact on another person, you can get away with more. By that definition, simply calling somebody a jerk does not make you one--as long as they can't hear you. If they didn't even notice you, it means that you didn't inconvenience them. And if they didn't hear you, you had no impact on them, negative or otherwise. If they did notice you and cut in front you any way, that makes them inconsiderate and your statement an objective statement of fact. Either way, you're not a jerk just for calling them one. 

But if you define a jerk as somebody who knowingly inconviences another person or somebody with the intent to harm another's ego, then you can't really ever call somebody a jerk without being one. When I call somebody a jerk on the road (and I am rarely so kind as to call them something so nice), a feeling of righteousness or vengance accompanies it. If they could hear me (without reprecussions to myself of course), I'd want them to know that I think they are inconsiderate and terrible drivers. And I want them to bow their heads in shame and whimper an apology. I don't mean them harm, but I would like them to acknowledge their mistakes and how they wronged me. So I think by the more stringent definition of "jerk", I'd be one. 

I think the solution here is for everybody to adhere to the rules of my road. Or I could be more realistic and stop caring so much about being minorly inconvenienced. But let's be honest, aren't people who are driving while on their cell phones dangerous jerks?